Don't go so deep looking for tears - those ones will never matter. The ones that are to worry about will float to the top anyway. He will tell you what the Fear is in this one. And you will talk about how you can't hear about it. And you will realize that what you thought the Fear was isn't quite it at all. And you realize that he is simple, in a wonderful way. And that it's so lovely that his Fear makes sense. And when he is gone, you cry yourself to sleep because you don't know what yours is. And he'll tell you you're looking for something that isn't there. And so you do that, in case you missed something. And suddenly you are shredding journals for cocaine pages and praying to God for big silences and tears in locked closets and under some mechanic's fingernails. But you remember Tom Waits before anyone told you about him... and you remember when he laid in the middle of the road you knew exactly what was going on. And sometimes that is the point. To remember the you without the other and to remember that you aren't the same but that still exists within you. And it is all choice and chance and chaos and coffee and apologies and forgiving yourself for not knowing how to overlook the lookout. But know at the end of the day, the most beautiful thing in the world is knowing that no matter how many times you give it away, it never runs out. And if you don't believe me, ask God next time you're about to eat breakfast.

If I can have a moment of reality here, none of that is necessarily saying something directly about me. If you know me, you know this is how I write, how I go, how I think. One thing to something big to nothing about me. But of course it's all relative. But I did want to say something really straight forward... and that is I would have stayed up just to make you feel better, and I came over just to make you feel a little better, and that somehow even without being in the same room, I felt like that was the most beautiful experience I've ever had in Love, and with you. Just knowing it was a good thing for me to be there... I hope you know what I mean. Contrary to popular belief, I never say what I mean ;)

And on and on...

I ain't writing no more of these damn reviews about poets and poems I didn't want to read. Get me out of this place where words are turned into something sinister, remind me why we practice writing with our right hands, write only to write off the ones whose writing isn't enough for us to manipulate and turn into something good enough for you. If I've told you once, I've told you a time or two that nothing is ever as confusing as it could potentially, depending on the weather, seem or feel or what is that word on the fifteenth page of the dictionary next to a picture of some Eden fruit that sort of looks like a greener kind of pineapple but with a different hairstyle... Wait... was that a question? Questioning whether or not it qualifies might be the problem in the first place because every good man knows that when you ask a drug addict which was is up, he's going to point to his insides and mumble sorry and i just miss eating birthday cake and tears are just as good as bottled water. There's no point to much of anything except forgiving people who tend to forget to apologize when their anger gets the best of them. We can't help how we feel so we rub each others hands together, press fresh fingertips crimson covered and wet along each others, and apologize for practice because marriage gets boring. There's nothing wrong here, with you or me, or the way things are. All we must do is see things differently they tell us every time. So Lorraine and I raise our hands to the sky and force our legs to defy gravity, scream as the toes dance in the air, return to the ground. Little ones, little ones. It's not normal to feel good. That's a good way to think about things. Another thing to consider is that it's not really garbage if you just bury it behind the sage bushes in the backyard and don't tell anyone about it. I wonder where Jeff is now, and if he's still wandering around Berkeley leaving notes for people he has no intention to meet, if he stopped smoking herb in favor of starting over. It's not like you changed my life - you just changed everything else. My hair turned gray when we met. So I cut it all off and planted it in the middle of People's Park and you can go there to this day and you'll see sage bushes and hummingbirds and homeless humming words to that song we can't remember the tune of exactly. HE WILL REMIND YOU is carved along his shoes, filled in slightly with crimson and birthday cake and little ones, little ones.

Ain't no way I'll ever stop from loving you now...

The second dreamcatcher just doubled all my dreams, can barely sleep from all the visions, all the wild horses and broken handbags, happiness in traffic jams and a calendar's worth of trying too hard reflected back to me in perfection, simple and strong, woven into the chords of a song I'll never learn to play on the blue guitar. I named her Adeline because it reminded me of Berkeley - the idea of my bad voice and something good. I can't explain drunk puppies but I can explain that. That something about Berkeley breaks my heart some days... but I remember the softness in your eyes and I remember how perfectly the world has tumbled together just for me. I don't know. I'm saying all this because today was a good day.

Birds and words and other floating things, I cannot tell you how long I've had the same headache. I'm trying to keep the good vibrations flowing, but that's not my job. The job of adult bookstores and maybe something like harmony keep me reminded that I have no control over how things feel. There's nothing for me to offer you except my empathy, and only for so long before I don't know how to have a conversation anymore. If my dreams came true, I'd still be at work saying and doing the same things. Don't you see? Where do I see myself in five years is under a bridge stacking rocks next to my friend Pierre the troll. There's something crooked about my mind; it's not violence or hate, but a complete overdose on everything from consumable goods to magical feelings. There's nothing left to believe in when you've absorbed all resources. Give me a break. Breaking is the easy part. Healing is hard. Where am I now is a more important question. Last night's meditations led me to hearing voices of people I don't know and when I woke up I was five pounds lighter. Where is the fine line? What does insanity resemble? Can't we all just... get along?